


The claim

by pleasebekidding



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Biting, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-02
Updated: 2012-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:25:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasebekidding/pseuds/pleasebekidding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’ve been having messy, enthusiastic sex for a few months now, but Damon’s never bitten Alaric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The claim

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saltzatore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltzatore/gifts).



> A/N: To my delight, a few lovely reviewers/commenters have recently mentioned that virtually all my Dalaric fics refer to a scar Alaric wears on his hip where Damon likes to bite him. My amazing friend Saltzatore is a particular fan of this scar and asked me recently when I would get around to writing about the first time Damon bit Alaric.  
> So this is for her, with a thanks for betaing as well, and for everyone else who has mentioned the scar to me. You guys know who you are!

The first time it happened, Alaric actually physically threw Damon off of him and reached for the vervain he knew was in his dresser drawer.

They had barely started. Walked somewhat inebriated from the Grill to Alaric’s loft, waxing lyrical about how awesome they both were, mutually conceited in the way only the best of friends can be. On arrival at the loft, Damon threw Alaric against the wall – his preferred approach to seduction – and Alaric had waged an immediate war on both of their shirts, craving the feel of Damon’s smooth, slightly cool body against his thickly furred chest. Damon was characteristically aggressive – somehow his displays of dominance early in their very gymnastic makeouts made him feel better about the fact he generally wanted Alaric to top.

So there was the drinking bourbon, the thrown against the wall, the clothes starting to fly everywhere and then Damon dragged Alaric to the bed, tearing at buckle and buttons and kissing Alaric’s neck.

Alaric pulled Damon across his body to kiss his mouth, and that was when it happened.

Fangs out. Eyes black not with lust but the darkening influence of engorged capillaries, and that fine tracery extended beyond Damon’s eyes. Alaric pushed Damon off him, off the bed, and after hitting the ground with a crash the confused bundle of vampire immediately leapt to his feet.

By which time Alaric had the vervain in his hand and the sort of angry expression Damon usually enjoyed, although right now, directed at Damon himself, it seemed… less funny.

Alaric shouted “What the hell, Damon?” at the same time as Damon shouted “What the hell, Ric?”

It was the sort of comedic timing which would usually have had them both laughing at their undeniable co-genius, really, but with Damon confused and hurt, and Alaric pissed off and scared, neither felt much like laughing.

Damon threw his hands out. “Seriously. What the hell?”

Alaric indicated his face. Damon thought a moment, retracted his fangs, relaxed his features. Smiled, unsure.

“Hi. Damon Salvatore. Vampire. You might remember me from this morning’s orgasm.” Deadpan. (Dead.)

“Don’t be a dick, Damon. You nearly bit me!”

Damon narrowed his eyes. “No I didn’t. Several steps between here and there.”

Alaric shook his head, climbed down from the bed. “Not particularly comforting. What just happened?”

“Same thing that always happens. I got turned on. You turned me on. Hence, vamp face. I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“The big deal is – fuck, Damon! What if you lost control?”

Damon snorted. “It happens pretty often. You’ve never noticed? No. You’ve never noticed. I’ve never ended up in a heap by the bed before.” Took a step towards where Alaric stood. “I don’t lose control, Ric. I’m not Stefan. I don’t snap at the smell of blood, even when it’s tainted with the smell of sex. Speaking of. Take your pants off.”

Alaric stood, unsteady. Unbalanced. “I think… I’m not really feelin’ it right now, Damon.”

Damon quirked his lip. “It was poking into your leg two minutes ago. You were feeling it then. Want to feel it again?”

Man knew how to flirt.

“Seriously, Damon. I’m just not in the mood any more.”

A series of expressions crossed Damon’s face; amused, angry, disappointed, bored and then hurt. Hurt stayed around. Stretched itself across Damon’s features until he dismissed it. “Fine,” he said, moving to slip his pants off.

“Ah… Damon?”

“I’m not wearing these to sleep in… oh.” Hurt was back. “You want me to leave.”

He was dressed and out the door before Alaric could shape words to make him stay.

The following night, Alaric knocked on the boarding house door.

Damon opened it and glared. It was a good glare. Damon had been glaring for a hundred and seventy years and knew how to glare just so, although the arms crossed over his chest were probably overkill.

Actually, the arms crossed over his chest were probably intended to enhance the shape of Damon’s arms. Alaric appreciated the effort either way.

“I accept written apologies only,” Damon said, narrowing his eyes further.

Alaric pretended to search his pockets for a pen. “Nothing to write with. Blowjob?”

Suppressing a smile, Damon stepped back to let Alaric inside. “That will do.”

Hours later, sated, and with Damon all fucked out and cuddly in his arms, Alaric asked himself for the thousandth time how he’d ended up here, and told himself for the thousandth time he didn’t really care.

The second time it happened, Alaric was in a better state to handle it but it came as a surprise nonetheless.

Damon and Alaric were mooching around the Grill, bemoaning the dearth of adults-only drinking establishments in Mystic Falls and debating heading back to the boarding house early.

Damon was eating onion rings. Alaric sneered. “Better not think you’re kissing me with that mouth, tonight,” he said.

Damon shrugged. “If I drink enough bourbon you won’t be able to taste it. I promise I’ll drink enough bourbon.”

“Why do you eat?”

“Because it’s fun and food tastes good.” Shrugged. “Because I can. I don’t have to worry about middle-aged spread.”

Alaric narrowed his eyes. “Was that a dig at me?”

“Relax, Ric. You’re neither middle-aged nor spreading and you never will be.” Alaric rolled his eyes. This was Damon’s new Thing. Talking about Alaric becoming a vampire as if it was a foregone conclusion.

The door opened, spewing forth six of Mystic Falls delinquent population, including an assortment of supernaturals – and Damon groaned. Stefan shot him and Alaric a wave.

“Tell me, Ric; if you were going to be seventeen for the whole of your very long life, would you go back to high school?”

Alaric shuddered. “I didn’t like teenagers when I was one.”

Damon grinned. “Let’s go back to the boarding house and have loud sex in Stefan’s room.”

They snuck away with a minimum of fuss – Alaric generally enjoyed watching Elena scold Damon about whatever the hell it is she thought he’d done that week but the thought of loud sex was better, and the thought of getting drawn into their conversations was frightful.

Once upstairs – Damon’s room, not Stefan’s – Damon creatively and unexpectedly threw Alaric against the wall. Kissed him thoroughly and ground his thigh between Alaric’s legs, relishing the friction. The war of the tongues was being fought and won (though Alaric couldn’t have said who was winning) when he felt Damon’s face change. Alarmed, he met Damon’s eyes, and then wrenched himself from the vampire’s grasp.

“You did it again!”

Damon shook his head, withdrawing all pointy threats and settling his features to pissed. “Why does it bother you so much? Is this easier for you if you can pretend I’m not a vampire?”

Alaric really, really couldn’t answer that.

“Guess what, Ric. I’m a vampire. I’ve killed people. Lots of them. And I drink blood.”

Alaric narrowed his eyes. Shook his head. “Stop it.”

Damon crossed his arms. “Just leave, Ric.”

Alaric left.

 

**

 

It was only a couple of days later that Alaric was sitting in his classroom marking papers until some time after the night fell. Hadn’t seen or spoken to Damon since Damon had unceremoniously kicked him out of his bedroom and Alaric wasn’t sure who was more likely to break first.

He missed Damon. A lot. More than he could really admit to himself, more than he was _prepared_ to admit to himself. Sitting at this desk with a cup of bad coffee in his hand wasn’t nearly as much fun as sitting on Damon’s couch with a glass of bourbon in his hand.

A telltale breeze drifted through the classroom and then Damon was pulling up a chair in front of the desk. Put his elbows on the desk and his chin in his hands. Met Alaric’s dark eyes with his own silver-blue ones. Smiled cautiously.

“Hello, Ric. Whatcha doing?”

Alaric smiled, tired. “Working. You?”

Damon shrugged. “Spent the day practising the speech I’ve now completely forgotten.” Took a mouthful of the terrible coffee and grimaced.

“I warrant a speech? Was it a fuck-you-and-your-moral-high ground speech? Or are you back to waxing lyrical about how much fun we’re going to have when you turn me into a vampire?”

“Neither.” Damon sat back in the chair, tilted his head. “Although those are excellent topics for later speeches. Give me a pen. I want to write them down.”

“One speech at a time. C’mon, Damon. Hit me.”

“Told you. I’ve forgotten it.”

“Gist, then. I’m sure you remember the gist.”

Damon sighed melodramatically. “I’m a vampire, Ric.”

“Short speech. And one I’ve heard before.”

“Vampires drink blood. When vampires fuck humans it’s pretty much with that in mind.”

“Great. Sexual services and a snack. You’re making me blush, Damon.” (It should be said, Alaric was not blushing.)

Damon rolled his eyes. “My point is, I’ve never drunk from you, right? I mean, that hasn’t escaped your keen perception. If I vamp out – just take it as a compliment.”

This was such an absurd statement that Alaric laughed. Damon moaned. Put his head in his hands again. “I swear that sounded less creepy in my head.”

Alaric reached across the desk, took Damon’s hand. An oddly tender gesture. Damon gripped it briefly.

“A compliment. Okay. I’ll do that. And then when you drain me dry, how should I take that?”

Damon was silent for a long beat. “I really want to bite you, Ric,” he admitted. “Really. Don’t want to kill you. Don’t need to drink a lot. But naked and sweaty, with your hands all over me, or, fuck, fully clothed and looking all badass at a council meeting… I want to bite you.”

Damon’s wearing his spooky intense look. The look usually either means it’s time to kill something evil, or that Alaric should prepare for a series of orgasms.

“That’s a lot of compliments. Also, should we warn Liz?”

Damon smirked. “My point is. I have a point.” Alaric waited. “My point is, I won’t. Not until you say I can.”

Alaric shook his head. “Got bitten by a lot of vampires while I was practising to kill you. Not high on the list of things I like doing.”

“It wouldn’t be like that. But I won’t.” Damon quirked a lip, and got up to leave. “Can I come over when you’re done?”

Handing over the key to the loft, Alaric nodded. “About an hour.”

Damon had one foot out the door when Alaric called him back.

“It will hurt, right?”

Damon shot eyebrows north. “A bit. Less than you think. You’ll be riding a torrent of hormones and not worrying about it. See you in an hour.”

Alaric wondered exactly when in the conversation he had started talking like he’d already agreed.

Damon liked to keep his eyes open while he kissed Alaric, as if to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere. Alaric liked to put his big hands all over Damon’s lithe form to show him he wasn’t going anywhere. Since twice, now, Alaric had freaked out just as things were getting interesting, Damon was a little insecure, rougher than usual, but Alaric knew enough to keep him grounded. Damon’s mouth tasted like bourbon and he held Alaric down to the bed, securing him with a strong, pale hand.

“Are you sure you’re not a werewolf?” Damon asked, head cocked to the side, tugging gently at the hair on Alaric’s chest.

“That gets funnier every time you ask me,” Alaric answered, as Damon’s mouth crushed his again. Quickly, he flipped them over, pinning Damon’s arms above his head.

With almost no warning, Damon’s slate-silver eyes were black, the capillaries in his face engorged. When his lips parted Alaric caught a flash of white.

Alaric leaned back, considering. Rubbed the pad of his index finger over Damon’s lips. Damon narrowed his eyes as if suspicious of Alaric’s motives.

“Taking it as a compliment,” Alaric said, touching Damon’s face. Exploring the new cant to his jaw. The tiny veins were raised just a little.

Clearly the reaction Damon wanted, because five minutes later, Alaric was balls deep in his best friend’s ass, setting an urgent pace, and Damon was liquid under Alaric’s big  hands. They kissed and kissed and kissed some more until first Alaric, and then Damon, came undone completely. Damon generally didn’t need a lot of time to recover and was squirming again in only a few moments, climbing over Alaric’s sated body to lick his own come off Alaric’s chest. Alaric smiled fondly.

“Do it,” he said.

“Looking for an excuse to get all pissy and leave?” Damon asked, eyes beginning to darken. “Don’t tell me I can do this unless you’re sure. I mean I love your pissed-off expression – really, I do – but the storming out is a drag.”

“It’s okay. Do it,” Alaric said, and Damon climbed higher on his body. To kiss him again. To nuzzle into Alaric’s neck. “Not there,” he said.

“No,” Damon said. “Not there.” He kissed his way back down Alaric’s chest. Paused a moment to tug Alaric’s softening cock back to life. Swept his tongue over the planes of Alaric’s hip, and then bit down.

Alaric tensed a moment. This wasn’t like being bitten the way he had been before. Damon’s elegantly curved fangs barely hurt, past the initial moment, and he fed so delicately he might not have been there at all. Gently he withdrew, running his tongue over a few stray drops of blood, and then returned to Alaric’s side.

Damon held Alaric’s eyes for a long beat, as if he was going to say something, but couldn’t.

“Okay?” he said at last, unsure. “Not too painful?”

Alaric felt dizzy. “No. Not too painful.” He sat up a little to look at the wound, perfect little ring, perfect replica of Damon’s mouth, already starting to clot, and then lay down again to look at Damon’s face; pale again, eyes silver, a stray drip of blood quivering on his lip until some instinct sent his tongue searching for it.

“Ric.” Damon buried his face against Alaric’s chest, and then met his eyes again. Odd expression. Hard to describe. Easier to interpret. _Thank you. I promise I will never treat you like a snack machine._

Alaric traced circles into Damon’s back. “Will it scar?”

“Up to you,” Damon said. “Which is to say yes. Unless you want the quick fix…? A drop of my blood will clear it away in a second.”

Alaric considered for a few moments. “Leave it. It’s just a scar.”

Damon narrowed his eyes. “More than that.”

Alaric nodded. “More than that.”

“A claim.”

Alaric pulled Damon into his arms. “A claim.”

“Mine,” Damon growled, low in his throat.

“Yours,” Alaric agreed, pulling him in for a thorough kiss.


End file.
